Sunday, February 13, 2011


When I arrive this morning, I find my mother still in bed asleep. A petite miniature of her former self, she looks adrift in a sea of pillows and blankets. I announce my presence quietly, my hand on hers, but she does not waken or open her eyes. That she dreams is obvious. Her face grimaces and she murmurs aloud.....even in slumber anguish registers on her face.

It is my hope that her dreams are clear, with none of the confusion that consciousness brings, each frame moving into the next like a home movie. We know she dreams of family. Upon waking she usually calls for her mother.

At one point she grabs my hand, still with eyes closed, and brings it to her cheek where she rests it in her hand. This small moment of normalcy is enough. Eventually, I take my leave and once more place my hand on hers. With eyes closed, she grimaces and tosses my hand away, grabbing the blanket over her shoulders as she rolls away from me. "Pammy", she says, her voice tired and filled with frustration, "you know I'd do anything in the world for you, but why can't you go to bed so I can get some rest?" Sweet dreams Mom as I tiptoe quietly away.

No comments:

Post a Comment